There was something new to overcome.

Rain lashed at my skin, the icy drops pelting down like stinging gravel and washing away the crimson pool spreading across the cracked concrete. I squeezed my eyes shut, letting my tears blend with the violent downpour so Mela wouldn't notice them—though it didn't matter, as her eyes were already glazing over, fixed on the bruised and weeping gray sky. I cradled her shattered body in my arms, desperately pressing my bare, trembling hands against a bullet wound that just kept bleeding, warm and sticky against the chill of the storm.

I used to complain about the insignificant sting of paper cuts, the minor inconveniences of everyday life, but I had never known an agony that drained the body so completely, hollowing me out from the inside. It felt as though my very soul was hemorrhaging out into the gutter.

"Why did you have to take the bullet for me?" I choked out, my chin resting heavily against her chest, feeling the frantic, fading thrum of her heartbeat stutter into nothingness. I let out a ragged, choked sigh and desperately tried to wipe the tears away, even though new ones replaced them as quickly as I could clear them, mixing with the relentless rain. Part of me wanted to run away, to hide in the dark and pretend none of this was happening, to wake up from this nightmare and find us safe in our apartment. But I couldn't abandon Mela. "Friends never leave each other's sides," she’d always promise, even after our relationship had blossomed into something much deeper than mere friendship—a quiet, unspoken devotion that I had foolishly taken for granted until this very second.

I wiped my wet sleeve over my bloodshot eyes once more, but eventually, the well ran dry. No more tears would fall. My throat seized up, and my chest began to heave with sharp, agonizing hiccups that wracked my frail frame. I looked down at Mela, horrified to see her blood soaking steadily into my nice clothes—the very outfit she had picked out for me when we went shopping in the city last year, laughing and teasing me about my terrible fashion sense.

A shadow fell over us, blocking out the dim streetlights and pulling my gaze away from her. The boy who had done this was still standing there. In the initial shock of the ambush, the deafening roar of the gunshot, and the sheer panic, I hadn't even fully registered his presence. He was the malicious, vicious killer who had just murdered Mela. Though I dreaded admitting it to myself, I knew I had been his original target before she bravely threw herself in front of the gunfire, anticipating the danger before my slow mind could even process the threat.

"Just going to stand there, sir?" I snapped. The word felt vile on my tongue; he deserved absolutely no respect, no polite formalities in the face of such pure evil.

"No," he replied, a sickening smirk playing on his lips as he tilted his head, watching me like a cat toying with a wounded mouse. "I was waiting for you. The job isn't finished."

If he hadn't just destroyed my entire world, I might have registered how objectively handsome he looked—with his piercing, predatory eyes, sculpted features, and a sharp jawline that belonged on a magazine cover rather than a rain-slicked alleyway. Shaking that dangerous, inappropriate thought from my mind with a disgusted shudder, I bent down and pressed one final, lingering kiss to Mela's cold forehead. I carefully laid her down on a rare dry patch of cardboard, gently smoothing her soaked hair, and stood up, squaring my shoulders to face him.

"Go now," I warned, my voice cutting through the storm with a bitter, hollow edge. Because of him, I was standing over Mela, forced to confront a terrifying, empty world without her. And because of her sacrifice, I had barely any strength left to stand, let alone look him square in the eye without collapsing from grief.

I started to walk past him, desperate to escape the claustrophobic alleyway, to find help, to find some way to reverse the irreversible. The man stepped rudely into my way, his boots clicking heavily against the pavement. I stepped to the side to the left; he moved with me, mirroring my every shift, blocking my escape route completely. I grumbled and attempted to shove him out of the way, my small frame colliding with his rock-solid chest, but as I saw the flash of lethal fury ignite in his cold, gold eyes, I instantly wished I hadn't done that.

The next moments were a violent blur. He was on top of me before I could even take a breath, his heavy weight pinning me to the muddy, unforgiving concrete with a force that knocked the wind entirely out of my lungs. Suddenly, a cold, jagged pocket knife was pressed directly against my throat, the tip biting into my flesh. A blinding bolt of pain surged from my ankle—which must have twisted entirely when I fell—and I felt tears sting the backs of my eyes once more, a fresh wave of terror overriding my sorrow.

"Please, I'll tell no soul. I swear it, please," I begged as the cold blade barely touched my neck, a bead of cold sweat running down my forehead amidst the freezing rain. I gulped the bile that was climbing up my throat, absolutely powerless beneath him, feeling the sharp sting of the metal.

"And why would I let you go, Samantha?" He asked, his voice eerily calm, the calm before the ultimate storm. He knew my name. That realization sent a fresh jolt of sheer panic through my veins.

I shivered as the blade pressed deeper into my skin, and warm blood started to run down my neck, mingling with the dirty rainwater. I gulped and wished more than anything that Mela and I had just stuck with our at-home date to watch a movie. I had to tell her to go out to eat. I had to drag her down to the alleyway and try to kiss her. I had to. I had to. I had to. The crushing weight of guilt and regret pressed down on me just as heavily as the killer's boots, a suffocating realization that my own romantic whims had walked her straight into this deadly trap.

"Fine, kill me now if you have the guts to." I glared up at him through the sheets of rain, hatred filling me up so much that I just wanted to punch that son of a—

The knife sank down into my chest. I let out a little gasp, feeling the cold metal pierce my heart, severing everything. There was no intense, prolonged agony—just a sudden, profound shock as the world went silent. Suddenly, the rain stopped pounding against me so harshly. The bitter cold of the alley evaporated, replaced by a strange, enveloping warmth. My body relaxed. I realized I hadn't truly been able to relax, not even once, throughout this entire chaotic, terrifying week. I forgot what it felt like to be completely free of tension.

Maybe I deserved this horrific end for my foolishness, for my arrogance in taking Mela for granted. But as the darkness closed in, a strange sense of peace washed over me. The rain faded to a distant murmur, and the crushing weight of the concrete beneath me felt like a soft bed. Soon, I thought, I can see Mela again. I smiled as the last breath left my lungs.

I was finally free.